


Beheld Twofold

by illegible



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Baby's First PWP!, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay, Other, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Psychological, Restraints, Second Person WoL, Shadowbringers Spoilers Implied, Smut, Voyeurism, ambiguous WoL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24074038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illegible/pseuds/illegible
Summary: One night, the Warrior dons Lahabrea's mask.
Relationships: Lahabrea/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	Beheld Twofold

You tug the bow into place, kissing his shoulder from behind before stepping away. The ribbon is black, just snug around his wrists. More a reminder than true constraint.

Lahabrea, undressed, sits in the wooden chair you’ve provided. Barely a yalm from your bed where you seat yourself in-turn. He’s looking at the floor and off to the side, sand colored hair partially obscuring his face. As if that could offer some substitute for his mask.

Made bare, he does not cut an imposing figure. Lean, ummarked, and perhaps ordinary. Easily shorter than you. Sharp cheekbones and mouth drawn taut. The hollows under his eyes yet remain, but diminished. 

You study a moment, and he does not see the smile gracing your lips. When his jaw tightens, muscles in the Ascian’s throat going tense before deliberately relaxing once more, you notice.

“If you mean to change your mind, Warrior of Light,” he says abruptly, “it would behoove you to tell me sooner rather than later.”

His lashes are very long.

“You’re not getting out of this that easily,” you reply, lightly, and though the chuckle doesn’t quite escape it nonetheless brings a lilt to your words. Removing your shirt in a single gesture, you leave it crumpled on the mattress beside you. “Truly. There is nowhere I want to be more than here.”

In a stilted, flickering movement he glances up. Eyes wide, irises pale. Away again.

An exhale leaves his nose gently.

“The body is unremarkable,” he comments without intonation. “If you would have another only—“

“I wouldn’t,” you interrupt. “You look good in your own skin.” A pause. He doesn’t quite squirm, but it is a near thing. Then, “This is difficult for me, too. Given the option I’d love nothing more than to take that spot there… just under your navel.” A wolfish grin from you. “Teeth and all ’til there’s a mark to remember me by. Alas, that’d be cheating.”

 _There_ he goes. A flush creeps up his cheeks to the tips of his ears. The space you’d described is barely soft rather than muscular and you can see him begin to shrink away.

“Poor consolation when you mean not to back your words.”

You snort quietly at his impatience, pulling breeches and smallclothes down together. Step from them, bundled on the floor.

 _This,_ he watches with rapt attention.

“I will,” you assure him, “just not for a while yet. We’ll see how you’re faring.”

Expression slack. He offers no answer. 

His mask remains where he’d left it on the nightstand. This, you take in hand—tracing delicately over its grooves and ridges. After a moment, you place it carefully upon your own face.

“How do I look?” you ask, smirking. It sounds easier than you feel. The Ascian doesn’t blink, doesn’t seem to so much as breathe.

You allow yourself an exception, now, to bridge the gap and steal a kiss. 

He balks at first. Not resistant but paralyzed. There is a sound, brief and high at the back of his throat that slowly deepens into a moan as he lets you in. Stroking the roof of his mouth, your tongue gliding over his. Lingering, working him hot between your lips—breath hard but infrequent through his nostrils as you hold fast. He fumbles to explore in-turn, unpracticed but no less passionate for that.

Eventually his lids flutter, pupils blown wide and unfocused.

He gasps as you let him go. 

Falling back in his seat, lungs heaving, empty of language at last. Affection creases your eyes at the edges in a way you can _feel._ Though it’s faint, you find yourself enjoying an aftertaste of coffee and cinnamon.

“You’re taking better care of yourself,” you observe. He’d treated food and drink like distractions at first, needless trivialities of flesh. Evidently not so any longer. “I’m glad for it.”

Lahabrea’s attention flits back to you, still struggling to catch his composure. Past the rise and fall of his chest you see him shiver.

“You’ve deserved more for far too long,” you add, and for a moment it doesn’t feel like you’re looking at an ageless shade at all. Despite everything he somehow manages to look terribly young. Perhaps it’s in the way he stares, you wearing his office thus. “With all that’s been given, taken, lost… I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I can offer this.”

His eyes are very bright. 

He blinks once. Again. 

Looks away, shaking his head.

“Don’t…” he says hoarsely, “…don’t say things you cannot possibly mean.”

And in response you say his name. Resonating through your Echo, a collection of chimes—delicate and precise.

He shudders, slumping forward. Hands straining behind him. 

Nonetheless, he does look at you.

“I meant what I said,” you tell him, eyes locked, “and I don’t say so lightly. You are one of the single bravest and most devoted men I’ve met… this is a pleasure for me.”

Lahabrea has never looked so unguarded, unable to find reason to doubt despite how intensely he searches you. Exposed and a deepening red, he opens his mouth as if to speak then silently shuts it again. Shuts his eyes.

Exhales.

Wavers.

You lean back, perched on your cot and bracing with one arm. The free hand comes to rest easily over your thigh.

“…and it doesn’t hurt that you’re handsome as well.”

Lahabrea laughs, easy and ironic and relieved beyond anything he’s shared with you before.

“I doubt others would readily agree,” he replies, voice dancing with humor.

You arch an eyebrow, and though it is not immediate his gaze slowly trails to where your hand waits ready. This is all the incentive you need as slowly, methodologically, you begin to stroke yourself.

“So are you planning to ask them?” you inquire, the incredulous sight of him watching as further incentive. Heat radiates gently between your legs. You spread yourself to provide a clearer view.

“Of…” says Lahabrea, strained. 

He swallows. 

“Of course not.”

You angle your hips toward him. 

“Then I’m afraid you have no choice but to accept. I’ve grown to like your features, your manners, your entirety… were any to ask who I favor most, it's you I would describe.”

There is a soft, strangled sound.

“Y-You couldn’t possibly—”

“I could.” It is such a simple thing to say, your interruption warm and hushed. “Even standing without titles, no other could decide this for me. Not even you.”

He hangs his head, hidden more fully behind his hair. Your thumb moves up and down in a quick, focused rhythm channeling blood to your groin. Muscles in Lahabrea’s neck shift, his torso rigid with control keeping himself silent.

A harsh, pleading noise from him gives you pause. Deflated like he’s been struck.

“You alright over there?”

It repeats. Not quite a laugh or a sob.

He nods anyway. 

“Don’t stop.” The words come thick, abrupt. _“Tell me._ Help me understand.”

So you do.

You tell him, breathing hard and harder, about the moments he sleeps beside you—tension eased from his brow and fingers curving into themselves. You recount subjects that excite him despite everything, catching you off-guard with how quickly he pieces together disparate information. How he presents findings with scarce more coherence than Urianger. You tell him how the times he’s leaned into your hands instead of flinching yet make you overflow—how the most mundane gifts or conversations bring life back to his eyes. The way he smiles, a little weary but sincere and with more gratitude than you feel you’ve rightly earned.

He is no longer a villain in your heart. 

Jutting your chin in his direction (he’s panting, you think behind his veil he watches your hand) and as you pulse into your own touch talk about the particular ways he inhabits himself. Even Lahabrea’s moans begin with a sort of eloquence (he has a depth to his voice that makes it easy) but with a little time and effort that comes undone. Higher pitch, loud without restraint. And it isn’t just obvious spots that take him there—bent over to stroke the small of his back is almost impressive as thrusting into him. 

Lahabrea shifts where he sits, trying with limited success to rub the the stiff head of his cock against one thigh. Halting your own ministrations with a groan that shifts to chuckling, you sit upright. Hook your ankle around a chair leg to drag him close, pulling him back by the hair so you can see his face. 

Flush cheeks, damp in places. Lips swollen. You show him the hand you’ve been using, slick with growing evidence of arousal. 

“Your doing,” you tell him matter-of-factly. “Surely you can accept _this.”_

It takes him a moment to fixate once more, caught up in his own reaction. 

He opens his mouth for you. 

You slip your fingers inside for him to taste.  
  
Faint impressions on teeth on skin, Speaker’s tongue stroking the underside of your joints—Lahabrea’s eyes roll back as you pin his legs open with your own. Adding pressure to his scalp, neck forming an arch not-quite-painful, you bring your own lips to his throat. First bite, then suck. He whimpers against your hand. You do not relent, summoning blood and heat and sound so close you can almost taste them. Keep your distance as he bucks uselessly against the air. He tries to swallow, tries to breathe, tries to whine. This only leaves him spasming beneath you—his neglected length dribbling over itself.

You wish, briefly, you had more hands.

As it stands, you take your time and resolve to deepening the bruise. Pushing him to a frenzy, writhing desperately to touch you more. Only when his movements grow sluggish do you bring him forward again. Slide one hand free and switch the other to brace his shoulder.

Wheezing, he is almost limp—almost without recognition. In an impulse you lean your masked forehead against his and remain a moment. Pupils overwhelming irises, what he sees appears to disorient him further. His first movement is an attempt to kiss the nearest fang, travel contours of a mask that is his but not him. You nip the tip of his nose in retaliation, red burden of Amaurot deliberately transformed by the Warrior who wears it.

He does not recover from his daze as you continue kissing down his chest, his stomach. When you find where you’d promised before, just above hair signifying his nether, he mouths words silently without meaning. This place you mark relentlessly, determined to make the reminders inescapable. His erection is painfully hard beside you, drooling freely.

“You’re doing well,” you murmur against him, as he stutters again against the restraint of your touch. “Almost there.”

Lowering your head, you again pass him to focus instead on his inner thigh—close without offering true release. So claimed Lahabrea cries out, loud and wet and unsteady as he strains for relief you yet refuse him. He sobs in earnest when you bite down, the music unique to his true language ringing discordant while his hips jerk uncontrollably.

You’ve only nosed the opposite thigh when you hear your name—shouted in airless supplication.

_**[PLEASE]** _

The instrument of his voice played with more force than skill, choked forth between tears streaming down his face. Lahabrea loses what little articulation he’d gathered, keening desperately as you shift center instead.

“Of course,” you tell him, almost apologetic. Soothing. “Watch now, if you can.”

Beneath the Ascian’s own mask, you draw him to your mouth.

It takes very little—fucking himself into you without any semblance of control or grace. There is nothing to hear at first, voice broken around the intensity of his need. This returns gradually as he finds relief in pieces. Tones of eld falling to mortal gasps falling to the deeper voice you’re accustomed to. He twitches as you swallow what you can, your thumb running back and forth over his ribs.   
  
Momentarily forgoing personal need, you liberate yourself and him together. Slip under Lahabrea’s unbound arm to help him onto the bed proper. He curls on his side, trembling occasionally against muscles that continue to contract outside his control. You sit beside him, using one hand to card through his hair while the other attends to your own completion. 

Your release, by comparison, comes with a hiss that skates between teeth before easing back into your bones.

***

When at last you lie down at his side, it is he who removes the mask. Sets it aside almost absently as his arms wind around your torso. Across your spine.

Neither of you says anything for some time.

“You’re well?” you ask at last, in scarce more than a whisper.

A beat passes before Lahabrea inclines his head.

“…I’d not have lasted much longer,” he admits, almost a croak. Another beat, and he adds, “You listened.”

It isn’t a question, but it sounds like one.

Pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, you smile and murmur, “I could hardly deny you. Not holding you in such esteem as I do.”

A long silence.

“You know my failings,” he replies softly. “Why should you… why should _I_ deserve...?”

Another kiss, this time at the Ascian’s temple.

“You are more than your worst moments,” you answer simply, “and the worst you hold yourself to, I can’t.” His grip tightens around you. “Besides… you’ve long underestimated your better qualities.”

Nothing.

Then slowly, in pieces, you feel his lips quirk against your collarbone.

“...Such as my good looks, I suppose?”

When you laugh, Lahabrea laughs with you.

**Author's Note:**

> An absolutely MASSIVE thank you to all my discord buddies who cheered me on as I flew by the seat of my pants writing this! Never done a PWP before so was a little nervous, but everyone was so sweet and supportive--it really means a lot to me! <3
> 
> Wishing confidence to all my readers, and if you're interested in joining a truly wonderful FFXIV fan discord for readers and writers feel free to jump over at [this](https://discord.gg/bNaqRtc) link!


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